


The Train Home

by EnduringChill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Attraction, Facebook, First Meetings, I'm Sorry, Love at First Sight, M/M, Not Beta Read, Public Transportation, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringChill/pseuds/EnduringChill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John meet on a train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Train Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_Jane221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/gifts).



> This has not been beta'ed so all awful grammar and mistakes are mine and mine alone. I thought of this as I rode the train home today as I surfed all my social media sites. This is a very quick (and poorly executed) birthday present for a dear friend (and fellow Leo) who has had a trying year - yet sails through it with grace and unconditional love.

John hates public transportation with the passion of a Spanish soap opera. He always gets a driver that moves a few meters then stops. Go, then stop. Move and break. 

Today is exceptionally warm for London. Unfortunately, his car’s cooling unit is only working intermittently. The fetid air cools for a moment before it grinds to halt. At least, he has a seat. Granted, he's wedged between a wall and a large man who reeks of day old garlic. 

John opens the Facebook app on his phone. He scrolls through Candy Crush requests and Foursquare check ins. He takes a quiz to discover what animal he is. Hedgehog. What algorithm sorted that out? He swipes his phone to look at newly posted pictures from his sister Harry and her wife, Clara. They just celebrated their second wedding anniversary. They beam at one another in matching blue dresses, but John knows the real story. 

The train stops. Above him, John hears a chorus of grunts and groan. A deep voice rumbles nearby. John glances up to only see a forest of arms and phones. 

John returns to his Facebook feed. More memes, videos of pets being adorable or silly and quizzes. He pauses on one update. 

**James Sholto has updated his relationship status to ‘in a relationship’. 

Something catches in John’s chest. He wonders who might have captured his former CO’s heart. Months ago, James Sholto moved up north - deep within sheep country. Did he settle down with a nice country girl or..? John shakes his head. No matter. Afghanistan is far away, in time and place. It was only a few stolen moments in a hot tent. It was only because death lurked around each corner, on the street and across the arid desert. 

John sighs heavily as the train lurches forward then breaks abruptly. The radio crackles with an indecipherable message about traffic, delays and something about a switch.

As he's about to close out of Facebook and open Twitter, his eyes catch on a post from his old friend, Mike Stamford.

Mike Stamford ‘Anyone looking for a flatmate?’

Cheryl Major ‘are you renting your flat?’

Sherlock Holmes likes this.

John thinks of his tiny bedsit with its creaky bed and barely warm hotplate.

John Watson ‘whereabouts?’

John notification pings.

Mike Stamford ‘Hey John! In the Marylebone section’

It would be closer to the clinic and Harry.

John Watson ‘how much? How many rooms?’

Mike Stamford ‘I heard you were back. Are you interested?’

Sherlock Holmes ‘It’s two bedrooms. How do you feel about long periods of silence and the violin?’

John frowns. Who the hell is the Holmes person? 

John Watson ‘Can’t be too silent with music.’

He hears a chuckle above him. The train stops again. Luckily, John is heading home for the day but his stomach growls. He skipped lunch and it’s well past dinner time. He thinks of the bare cupboards at home and wonders what kind of takeaway is nearby. Maybe he’d pop in at D’Arcy’s Pub for a pint and some chips. Curry chips. 

Sherlock Holmes ‘You are correct. Long periods without speaking and sometimes violin late into the night’

John opens Sherlock Holmes’ profile. He can’t see the man’s face, only a silhouette of a man with unruly hair seated in a black leather chair. A silk dressing gown pools around him. John decides he looks too bloody regal. Under occupation: Consulting Detective. Birthday: January 6. Lives in London. No other information. He clicks on the photo album to find only photos of several types of...is that ash? And different types of cakes and pies. Odd. His phone pings with a notification.

Sherlock Holmes ‘Flatmates should know the worst about one another.’

John shakes his head. 

John Watson ‘So you must be looking for the flatshare’

Sherlock Holmes ‘Aren’t you clever. I could use someone like you. Do you often take the train?’

John’s heart jumps into his throat. He looks through all his replies and never once did he give away his location. How could this man know? He lifts his head to gaze up into full lips turned up in a sly grin and the most surreal sea green eyes. The unruly dark hair is no longer in silhouette, and Goddamn, it looks soft. 

The tall man extends a hand down to curl his fingers around John’s who swears he feels a spark. “Sherlock Holmes, and the address is two-two-one B. I’m headed there now. Care to join me?” 

Sherlock’s voice is smooth as fine silk and rich as Dutch chocolate. John has never felt such a sudden and violent attraction to anyone like this before. 

“God yes.” 

Sherlock’s eyes sweep over John and crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “John Watson, I presume.” He flips his phone to reveal John’s Facebook profile page.

John chuckles and shares his phone screen with the tall man before him. “Mr. Holmes. Consulting detective?”

Sherlock winks. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” He glances up as the train doors open. “This is our stop.”


End file.
